


paul's birthday

by soft_decay



Category: Petscop
Genre: And Your Bf, Cake, Fluff, Paul Gets Off His Playstation for a Few Hours, Paul Petscop is an Awkward Bean, Starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 04:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20576585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_decay/pseuds/soft_decay
Summary: uploads 22, 23, and 24 really ignited that hot burning flame of Petscop Passion™ in my weary bones and i decided i had to write a Paul x Reader. i mean, come on, his voice is cute and he's probably not dead!right?anyway, fit this vignette into the lore as you will; i don't think it conflicts with anything as long as you choose the right year...i hope you enjoyed this mess of an upload. smash that like button if you did, and subscribe for more Paul Petscop content. Now:





	paul's birthday

It’s Paul’s birthday and you’ve decided to meet him at Starbucks because you two are just edgy like that. Wearing your literal Sunday best, you pull open the door, and the smell of coffee and pumpkin spice fills your lungs like a calming fire. Some upbeat 90’s song is playing on the speakers. What a good place for a date.

Looking around the small establishment, you almost think Paul’s late to his own birthday celebration before you notice the brown-haired guy with his head down in the booth to the far back. 

Yup. That’s him.

You stalk down the short aisle, half-exasperated and half-amused, and you tap your boyfriend firmly on the shoulder.

Paul makes a noise (it sounds like “fuck”) and jerks awake. Trying to adjust to the cold, conscious world, he looks up and blinks slowly at you.

“Hey, Paul,” you say, fighting a grin. He mumbles something back that you assume to be a greeting, and you sit down across from him. 

Paul... is a mess. You can tell (with a twinge of affection) that he did try with his outfit for the day; his shirt is new, and he traded his black sweatpants for jeans. But all of that is inconsequential when the person wearing them has reddish eyes from sleep deprivation and a category-5 hair situation. Plus, his new shirt’s wrinkled from how he was slumped over a minute ago.

But it’s Paul. And you love Paul.

Now you’re worried. “How much sleep did you get last night?” you ask as Paul attempts to rub the tiredness out of his eyes.

“Uh... I can’t remember.”

He’s serious. You swallow a sigh.

“You’re still not gonna tell me what you do all night, are you?”

“Um.” Paul offers a small smile, and it makes you warm despite yourself. “Driving, I guess.”

“Driving where?”

“Nowhere. Just driving around.”

“Do you stop anywhere?”

He ponders this. “Maybe if I, uh, see something. Something interesting.”

“Like? What did you find last night?”

You notice that Paul’s rubbing his thumb in circles, over and over and over. Almost like a loading screen.

“I found... I found an old school.”

There aren’t many schools in the area - it’s a small town - so you should be able to remember an old one. Maybe it’s outside town, because you can’t remember any.

You decide to humor Paul anyway. It’s his birthday, after all. “Did you go inside?”

“... Nah,” says Paul. 

Paul looks like he’s falling back asleep, because his eyes keep losing focus and he keeps blinking. Jesus. You think the best birthday gift that you could give Paul right now would be several hours in your goddamn bed, but... you don’t think you’re there yet. 

You compromise. “Paul.” You boop him in the nose, and he wakes up a little. You motion to the counter somewhere behind you. “I’m gonna go get us drinks. Caffeinated ones.”

“Oh, okay. Just get me a small one. Or a tall one? ‘S that what they call it?”

“Got it. I’ll be right back.”

Paul smiles (again) and (again) it’s worth everything. You get up and head over to the line. 

While waiting, you spot a cute-looking slice of chocolate cake in the display behind the glass. Paul told you not to bother getting a cake (he hates when you spend money on him), but this is technically only a slice. And what’s a birthday without cake? You add it to your order. 

When the lady asks for your name, you answer “Paul.” It’s his birthday, after all.

You’re laughing as you come back to the booth, drinks in hand and cake in a plastic bag hung on your wrist.

“Paul. Paul, look!” you cry, setting the drinks down in front of your boyfriend.

Bewildered, Paul picks up a drink and looks at what’s written on it in thick black Sharpie. “P-A-L-L,” he reads out, and the sets the drink down, laughing. “The fuck? How’d they get that so wrong?”

“I don’t know, but it’s hilarious.” You take a sip of your drink. It’s warm. It makes you feel at home.

Paul’s looking at the bag you set on the table. “Uh, what’s that?”

You play dumb. “I dunno.”

He grabs it, drags it toward him, and looks inside. When he looks back up at you, his eyes are narrowed. 

“Wasn’t this, like, uh, eighteen dollars?”

“No.”

“Your receipt is in the bag.”

You grimace. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Whoops.”

“Look, Paul --” you say, and in a flash, you’re grabbing his hand. “It was a good use of my money. Just... it’s fine, okay? It’s your birthday.”

He looks at the hand. He looks at you. He looks at the hand. 

You give his hand a little pat and let go to take the slice of cake and the fork out of the bag. The slice is in a clear plastic container. You stuff the bag in your coat pocket and open the container. You cut a wedge out of it with the fork, stab it, and hold it up in front of Paul. 

“Eat, “ you tell him.

There’s a moment when you see something dark in Paul’s eyes as he stares at the little wedge of cake. Almost as if he’s remembering something unpleasant. You can’t even begin to guess what, but before you can really dwell on it, the moment’s over and Paul is sheepishly opening his mouth for you.

Once he’s eating the cake, the mood lifts and Paul chuckles around the plastic fork, mouth full of chocolate and face unmistakably red. You laugh with him. 

Outside the Starbucks, as he’s about to leave to go home (apparently his family’s also doing something), you give him a peck goodbye. He blushes. It’s so easy to make him blush. 

“Happy birthday, Paul.”

He scratches the back of his head. “Th-thanks for the cake.” 

You nod. There’s a pause. 

Paul leans down and kisses your mouth. 

Your eyes widen. Before you can process it, he pulls back and stutters, “Um... o-ok, bye-bye.” He then turns and runs down the sidewalk to where his car is parked. You eyes are still huge when you hear him drive off.

You don’t see him for months after that, but the feeling of his mouth still lingers for a while, like the taste of pumpkin spice coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> uploads 22, 23, and 24 really ignited that hot burning flame of Petscop Passion™ in my weary bones and i decided i had to write a Paul x Reader. i mean, come on, his voice is cute and he's probably not dead! 
> 
> right?
> 
> anyway, fit this vignette into the lore as you will; i don't think it conflicts with anything as long as you choose the right year...
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this mess of an upload. smash that like button if you did, and subscribe for more Paul Petscop content. Now:


End file.
